


Hospital for Souls

by realmsoffreedom



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), Big Time Rush (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/M, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:56:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9147730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realmsoffreedom/pseuds/realmsoffreedom
Summary: "Have you ever took a blade to your wrists? Have you been skipping meals? We're gonna try something new today. How does that make you feel?" When it gets to this point, drastic measures are the only way to keep from utter devastation.Maybe time at a mental hospital is what they need.Rewrite of Unwell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been so long since I've been on here, and I'm sorry. Lack of inspiration and writer's block have been hitting me hard. I've wanted to rewrite Unwell since I finished it. I didn't like how I put that story together at all. This isn't going to be exactly like that, but it has the same basic idea. I'm leaving that story up in case you guys still want to read it, but it's really not that great, so I wouldn't bother. Additionally, I'm including BTR in this because I used to be a hardcore BTR fan, and I kinda miss writing for them. James isn't going to be as major of a character as the 1D/5sos boys, but I am going to dive into his friendship with Kendall, Carlos, and Logan and really explore it. I hope you guys are okay with that.
> 
> Finally, this story's going to be pretty triggering, given the nature of it, so if anything in the tags bothers you, I'd click away now. I'll put trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter, but if you're sensitive to these things, I wouldn't read this. 
> 
> Trigger warnings - anxiety, eating disorders, bipolar disorder, depression, suicidal thoughts, and panic attacks. 
> 
> Enjoy.

He’s shaking.

He stares up at the large building in front of him as tears build in his eyes. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t need this. There’s nothing wrong with him. People are so quick to judge him. So fucking quick to look him over and pin a diagnosis on him like he’s sitting on a conveyor belt in the middle of a factory, whizzing past “doctors” who take one look at him and label him a fucking freak. 

He has bad days. He has days where he doesn’t want to get out of bed and he doesn’t want to do anything and he doesn’t want to live. But that doesn’t make him crazy. He’s not fucking crazy. He has days where he’s happy and days where he’s not. Everyone does. Why the fuck are they calling him crazy then? He’s not crazy.

He’s not bipolar. 

“Hey, you okay?”

He freezes. His heart automatically speeds up, running a marathon in his chest as he turns to face the owner of the voice.

“Sorry mate, didn’t mean ta scare you.” The boy holds out a hand. “I’m Niall.”

“Louis,” he replies, shaking Niall’s hand. “Y-You’re a patient too?”

Niall nods. “Just came yesterday. Did you just get here?”

“My mum checked me in and everything, and my family already left. I know where my room is. I just needed some air.” Louis fidgets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He’s never known what to do with his hands when he talks to people. He’s never really known what to do with himself entirely. He’s overly conscious of his body movements, wondering how they’ll translate in other people’s minds and what overall impression he’s giving off.

Niall doesn’t seem to be paying much attention. He shoots a glance back at the building and then looks to Louis again. “Makes sense. It’s a lot at first.”

“I shouldn’t even be here,” Louis whispers, his voice breaking. He’s trying desperately not to cry, but it’s not easy. There’s been a lump in his throat ever since his mum hugged him goodbye and promised she’d visit the moment he’s allowed to have visitors. He misses her already. It’s only been ten minutes since she left. “I’m not crazy. I don’t need to be locked up in this damn loony bin.”

“You’re not alone there mate,” Niall replies. “But everyone inside is worried about you. They kinda sent me to get you.”

“Of course they did.” Louis inhales deeply, closing his eyes. This is a mental hospital, above everything. They still have to abide by the typical mental hospital restrictions. He was forced to pull out the strings on his hoodie and his shoelaces. His sweatpants can’t even have strings. They’re fucking paranoid for no goddamn reason. It’s not like he’ll be able to strangle himself using a damn shoelace. 

“Come on, come inside. It’s getting cold out here.”

Louis swallows hard, forcing tears back. He cannot cry. He cannot let Niall see him fall apart. Too many people have seen him weak and vulnerable in the past few days. Niall isn’t going to be another one. 

He presses his left thumb into his right wrist, breathing as he irritates the fresh cuts there. It hurts, and it hurts so fucking good. They can take his blades and make sure he’s around nothing sharp, but there’s nothing they can do to keep him from hurting himself with his existing wounds. It’s not a permanent solution, but it’s enough to keep him temporarily sane.

He closes his eyes and takes another deep breath, before turning and following Niall into the building.

…

“Some new kids got here today.”

Calum climbs onto Michael’s bed and rests his head in Michael’s shoulder. Michael doesn’t look up, continuing to scribble furiously in a notebook. Calum isn’t surprised. Michael isn’t one of many words. He doesn’t speak unless spoken to, and even then, he isn’t verbose. He says what he has to and keeps to himself the rest of the time. Calum, in his decade of knowing him, has learned to adjust to Michael’s mannerisms and work his own personality around him. It doesn’t bother him anymore.

“Did they say something to you?” Michael looks up at him and winds his free arm around Calum’s shoulders. He displaces Calum’s head, and Calum grunts, curling underneath Michael’s arm and settling back in.

“No,” Calum replies. “They look nice enough. But there’s like, fuckin’, four of them. It’s a lot.”

“Are they in our section?”

“Think so,” Calum mutters. “Three of them look like me.”

“So like skeletons.”

“M’not a fuckin’ skeleton,” Calum insists weakly. “Dunno why you and everyone else here doesn’t see it.”

“You don’t see what I see, Cal,” Michael says. “You scare me sometimes.”

“So do you.”

Michael says nothing, and Calum sighs. “Mikey. You okay? Is today a bad day?”

“Every day is a bad day for me, Cal,” Michael replies, sounding much too nonchalant for the seriousness of the conversation. Calum’s always hated that about him. He takes about himself and his problems like they mean nothing. It’s like he thinks he means nothing. “Tell me about the new kids. What’d you see?”

“One of them’s rooming with Niall,” Calum says. “And the another’s probably with that other kid. The one that came yesterday?”

“James,” Michael supplies. “He’s anorexic.”

Calum knows that second part was a stab at his refusal to accept his eating disorder, but he chooses to ignore it. “What do you think of them? Niall and James seem pretty nice.”

“Haven’t seen much of them. James was quiet in group this morning. But I like Niall.”

“You guys aren’t busy, are you?”

Calum looks up as Ashton walks into the room, followed by Luke. They’re roommates as well, right across the hall. And like Michael and Calum, they were friends before they got here. He and Michael have slowly molded together with Ashton and Calum. He enjoys it, their quiet little quartet. He doesn’t feel like he needs anyone else when he has them.

“Just talking about the new kids,” Calum replies. “Did you see them?”

“They look so much older than us,” Luke says quietly, as he curls next to Ashton on Calum’s bed. “I’m glad we don’t have to room with any of them.”

“They wouldn’t make us do that.”

“How do you know? They could split us up and force us to room with someone new. I still don’t think they were happy when they realized Ash and I and you and Mikey were friends beforehand.”

“That sucks for them then,” Calum replies. “They can’t split us up. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“They wouldn’t do that Lukey,” Ashton says, slipping an arm around Luke’s shoulders. “Lucas is really nice. And they all have to answer to him. He wouldn’t let them do that.”

“Yeah, you gotta stop overanalyzing shit,” Michael speaks up. “You’re gonna go crazy if you don’t.”

“M’already crazy,” Luke mutters sullenly. “Wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”

…

Harry swallows against the lump in his throat and hefts his duffel bag higher on his shoulder. He can’t keep crying about this. He can’t keep going over what happened, wishing for a different outcome. What’s done is done, and now he’s in this hellhole. He just has to deal with it. This is a shitty card, but he has to play it. 

He sets his bag on his bed and plops down next to it, burying his face in his hands. 

“Shit, I didn’t even notice you.”

His head snaps up and Harry finds himself staring into the eyes of a stranger, specifically the stranger who’s his new roommate. He feels his heart start to race in his chest, pounding furiously. He’s been isolating himself for a while now, keeping away from others and trying not to call attention to himself. This is a little nerve-wracking for him, especially since the stranger is looking at him like he’s some kind of monster.

He clears his throat and holds out a hand. “I’m Harry. Harry Styles. It’s nice to meet you.”

“James Diamond.” James shakes his hand and then reaches up to brush his fringe out of his eyes. He looks just as awkward as Harry feels, so it makes him feel a little better about being this nervous. But this gives Harry the opportunity to get a good look at him, and he’s stunned. 

James is everything Harry’s every aspired to be. When he first started losing weight, he had a goal in mind. He had an ideal weight, but he also had a goal body. He had a picture in his mind of the kind of body he wanted to end up with, and James fits the bill perfectly. His collarbones are visible and his face is thin. His shirt is hanging loosely off his frame, and the skinny jeans he’s wearing are making his legs look thin as well. He looks exactly like Harry’s wanted to look for so long. 

That must be why he feels like utter shit. He’s been doing this for so long, not eating, exercising like crazy, and he’s still a pig. He still has a gut and thick thighs and he still hates every inch of his body. Clearly he’s been doing something wrong because whatever James did worked and whatever he did didn’t. 

He sucks in another deep breath and watches as James begins taping pictures to his wall. They’re all photos of him and three other boys, a blond and two brunettes. They have their arms around each other in most of the photos, smiling brightly at the camera.

It tugs at his heart a bit. He wishes he had that. Friends that love him and care about him despite everything. That’d be amazing. He wishes he had people he could trust. Any person he’s tried to confide in has betrayed him. He’s stopped trying. He’s stopped letting people in. There’s no point anymore.

All they do is disappoint.

…

Liam is terrified. 

He’s standing in the middle of a room he’s sharing with a complete stranger in a mental hospital full of more strangers. Nothing about this is calming. He’s never been more scared in his life. He’s nauseous and he’s trembling and nothing feels right. Nothing feels okay. He doesn’t know what to do. All he knows is that he can’t breathe and the room is spinning.

“Hey mate, you okay?”

He’s too dizzy to respond. He falls to his knees and brings a hand to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut. Everything hurts. His head is pounding and his heart is racing. He feels like death is coming for him. He’s actually dying.

“Hey, take some deep breaths for me, alright? You’re gonna be okay.”

The stranger coaxes him through multiple breathing exercises until he can finally breathe normally again, and he sighs, exhausted. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” The stranger holds out a hand. “I’m Zayn. What’s your name?”

“Liam,” Liam replies. “But you may as well call me pathetic, because that’s what I really am.”

He’s used to this. People are nice at first, and then they come to their senses and realize he’s not worth wasting time over. It’s shit, but he’s used to it. He’s had so many people come into his life and get his hopes up, instilling fake hope and then proceeding to yank the chair out from under him. Zayn won’t be any different.

“That’s no way to talk, mate. Come on.” Zayn pulls him to his feet and shoots him a smile. “The shit tour they gave isn’t enough for me. I wanna check out this shithole, see the stuff they didn’t point out. You in?”

Liam’s really not in the mood, but someone’s showing interest in him and he’s been starved of it so long that Zayn’s offer is irresistible. “Let’s go.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the response on the last chapter, I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story. This chapter introduces a couple OCs, both of which are major characters. There's gonna be one more major OC, but she's not actually in the chapter, although she is mentioned. I wasn't planning to use OCs, but these are my babies and I love them way too much not to use them in something. I've spent so long developing their stories, so trust me, you won't be disappointed.
> 
> Trigger warnings - eating disorders, depression, bipolar disorder, self-harm, suicide, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, and mentions of abuse.

“How is it so far?”

Niall sighs, bringing the phone away from his ear and touching the button that puts it on speaker. “They wouldn’t let me leave the table until I ate everything on my goddamn plate this morning and every bathroom has a guy stationed in front of it to make sure I don’t purge. I feel like shit.”

“They’re trying to help,” Grace tells him. “They wouldn’t be doing it if they didn’t think it’d help you.”

“Force feeding me isn’t going to make me hate myself any less.”

“That’s what therapy is for,” Grace replies. “That’s why they do it. You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Ni. It’s gonna destroy you.”

“Already has,” Niall mumbles. He lets his head fall back against the wall and closes his eyes. “It’s so much harder to eat when I know I won’t be able to purge. Everything’s harder. I don’t wanna be here. I wanna be home, with you. This place has me on edge all the time and I hate it.”

“I miss you too.” She sighs into the phone. “But I want you to get better. This is for the best.”

“Doesn’t feel that way.”

“You’ve only been there for two days. It’ll take time.”

“I don’t want to be here at all. It was just a diet. I don’t have a fuckin’ eating disorder.”

“Throwing up everything you’ve eaten isn’t a diet,” Grace deadpans. “I love you. I want you to be okay. And I can’t help you with this. You need professional help.”

“I’m fuckin’ fat. I don’t need some asshole with a degree to tell me otherwise.”

He notices the immediate shift in her tone when she speaks again. It’s more somber, taking on a more sad and distant character than he’s used to hearing. “That’s exactly why you need to be in there, babe.”

…

“Harry? We’ve got group in five minutes.”

James combs his fringe carefully, making sure no hair is out of place. He glances into the camera on his phone, using that as a mirror. They don’t let eating disorder patients have mirrors in their rooms. Probably trying to prevent violent rages when they gain weight. James knows exactly what he’s in for, and he’s not ready for any of it. 

He sets his lucky comb on his dresser and glances over at Harry. “You okay?”

“I don’t wanna be here.”

“Join the club.” He forces a laugh and reaches for his phone. “I don’t think anyone who’s here is here willingly.”

“I’m not even that skinny,” Harry mumbles, sitting up and wiping at his eyes. They’re red and bloodshot and it really tugs at James’ heartstrings. How can he not think he’s thin? He looks like a goddamn skeleton. There’s no visible ounce of fat on him. “You’re so much better at this than I am.”

He feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Harry’s words wind him. He looks from Harry’s skeletal structure to his own thick calves and oozing stomach in pure shock. How can Harry think that? He’s never gotten a compliment like that before, even when it isn’t true. He’s not sure whether he’s flattered by it or pissed at Harry for lying to him. 

He chooses not to respond to it. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

He walks out the door, not even sure if Harry’s following or not. His words just keep replaying over and over in James’ head. He doesn’t know what to believe. He’s felt the same way about some of the other patients here. Niall’s done so much better than him and some of the other patients in the group therapy session yesterday looked a lot better than he does. How can he be a person people look at and admire and aspire to be like? He’s nowhere near that.

He’s never been that person. He’s been the fatass people point at and laugh about, the brunt of all teasing, imperfect. He’s not someone to admire. Harry was just fucking with him. He’s like everyone else. Instilling false confidence to try and make James see himself as something he’s not. That’s not going to happen again.

They can tell him he’s skinny all they fucking want. It won’t change the fact that he’s truly fat, a disgusting pig that will never live up to the expectations of handsome. 

…

Zayn slumps into the first empty chair he sees, crossing his arms over his chest. Liam perches in the chair next to him, visibly uncomfortable. Zayn can see him shaking. He has no idea what happened to him, but it’s obvious that someone hurt Liam enough for him to develop this anxiety. 

Liam seemed on edge throughout their journey through the facility. He was jumpy and antsy, and every time Zayn asked him for his opinion on something he’d agree with what had been previously said. He never expressed his own viewpoint. Something tells him Liam’s been hurt for trying to do so in the past, so he’s resorted to being fully compliant and therefore suppressing the parts of his personality that are so uniquely him. Zayn hates that.

“Hey.” Zayn reaches over and grabs Liam’s hand. It’s clammy and sweaty, but he doesn’t mind. Liam’s nervous, visibly so, and anxiety has physical effects. Liam’s entire body stiffens at the touch as his gaze travels over to Zayn. “Breathe. You’re okay. If you need to leave I’ll make up an excuse and we can get out of here.”

Liam nods jerkily, pulling his hand away. Zayn sighs. He hates whoever has hurt Liam this badly. Something terrible must’ve happened for him to be this shaky, to repress this much, to feel like he isn’t allowed to speak his mind. He’s suppressing so much and it’s heartbreaking. 

He pulls his thoughts away from Liam and takes a moment to look around the room. They’re in group, a therapy session every morning that’s mandatory. There are ten of them, all sitting in chairs that have been set up to form a circle. There’s one empty chair for the person in charge. Zayn doesn’t know who that is yet, but something tells him he’s not gonna be too fond of whoever it is.

The idea that someone who was taught the “right” way to deal with mental health in school is going to be running things around here disgusts him. There is no right way. There is no one easy fix to mental health. Everyone is different and everyone is differently affected. The same mental disorder could affect two people very differently. There’s no categories for people to fall into because people aren’t test subjects that are judged based on their symptoms and sorted. 

…

Finally, someone in a white coat joins them. He pulls off his white coat and drapes it on the back of his chair before he sits down, glancing around the room at all of them. 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and that allows Harry to get a better look at him. He’s wearing a red and black flannel and black skinny jeans. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and ink covers both forearms. The first button on his flannel isn’t buttoned, and Harry can see hints of ink peaking out. His black hair is tucked into a grey beanie and he’s wearing a pair of converse. 

He looks so different from any other therapist Harry’s been to. He’s always seen people that look much more polished, much more put together, and a lot less…punk. This guy is the definition of punk or goth or emo. Maybe that’ll make him different, but Harry’s not so sure. Outside appearance doesn’t define personality. 

“We should probably get started,” he says. “Hey guys. I’m Dr. Jensen, but you can call me Lucas. I’m kinda the guy in charge of all of this. I’m gonna be the one handling these group therapy sessions, and I really hope you guys are okay with that. I didn’t want it to be anyone else. I know what you all are going through, and having someone who doesn’t have the experience I do take on these sessions would be doing you a disservice.”

Harry isn’t sure how to feel about all this. Lucas is talking about experience and management and he can’t help but think maybe he’s exactly like those shitty fake therapists; the ones who pretend to care but are only in it for the money. 

“If I’m gonna be asking you guys to share personal information and trust me with it, I figure I should do the same. Some of you have already heard this, but we have some new faces, so forgive me, but I’m gonna tell the story again. So, here goes.” He leans forward slightly and smiles at them. “I’m 37 years old. My wife and I have three kids, a son and two daughters. Alex is 17, Eliana is 16, and Avery is 15. We wanted to get the baby making over with quickly, which is why they’re all so close in age. My wife and I got married right after high school. I proposed the day we graduated.”

“Your parents were okay with that?” Harry hears the comment, although it was probably not intended to be audible. 

“They weren’t,” Lucas replies. “I did it anyway. By the time I graduated I was beyond done with them fucking up my life with their shitty opinions.”

This is the first time Harry’s ever heard a therapist swear. Lucas seems as unpolished as they get. He appreciates it. He’s never had anything like this before. Maybe this experience will finally be different than previous ones. 

He does want to get better. He’s sick of hunger pains. He’s sick of forcing himself not to eat. He’s sick of living a life of fear, fearing leaving the house, fearing hanging out with friends, fearing everything because there’s a chance food may be involved. He’s wanted control for so long, but it’s quite possible that he has far too much control. He needs to learn how to let go. 

“Anyway,” Lucas continues. “My life wasn’t as perfect as I’m making it seem. Things have gotten a lot better for me, but I had to go through so much shit to get to this point. I’m bipolar, and I have generalized anxiety disorder and PTSD. I self-harmed for years, started when I was twelve and kept relapsing on and off until I quit for good. The last time I did it was when my wife was pregnant with our son, so around 17 years ago. I’ve tried to kill myself ten times. My parents were extremely abusive and my dad hit me all throughout my teenage years. That’s where the PTSD and anxiety come from. I’m not the therapist that’s gonna tell you that recovery’s easy, because it isn’t. It’s hard. It’s painful. It takes time. And honestly, there are some things you will never recover from, like I haven’t. I still have nightmares about my parents. I still get nervous around knives. I still have days where I just don’t want to breathe anymore. And I live most of my life in fear that I’ll become the same person my father was to me to my kids and that’s enough to destroy me.” He pauses. “I’m telling you all this because I want you to know that it’s possible for things to get better. I was one of you. I was the person who believed I’d be the exception, that nothing would get better for me. And I was wrong.” He glances up at the clock. “Jesus, I’ve been talking for way too long. But guys, please don’t feel like you need to say something today. If you’re uncomfortable, that’s fine. I won’t push, not yet at least. I want you to trust me. Forcing you to do something you don’t want to do is the worst way to go about that.”

Holy shit. Harry was not expecting that. He looks Lucas up and down, still trying to process this new information. The tattoo sleeves and the piercing and the black clothes make sense. The unpolished, rough nature does too. He’s not going to sugarcoat things with medical jargon or try and push optimism. He tells it like it is, and he’s blunt about it. Harry appreciates that.

And for that matter, he likes Lucas. He likes him a lot, actually. Now that he knows a little bit more, he really feels bad for the guy. But it gives him some hope, at least. If Lucas was that far down in rock bottom and still managed to pull himself out of the hole, then Harry’s not too far gone yet. That’s always scared him; the idea of being too far-gone to even get help. He doesn’t want to die. 

“You don’t know about eating disorders.” Harry glances up to look for the source of the voice and finds himself staring at the boy sitting across from him. His arms are crossed over his chest and his face is unreadable. He doesn’t look like he was fazed by any of this. He’s probably heard the story before. All the other new people are looking at Lucas the same way Harry is, in shock, pity, and sympathy. 

“My wife was anorexic, Calum,” Lucas tells him. “She has depression, social anxiety, and she struggled a lot with anorexia when we were teenagers. She cut too. She works part-time here, so you guys that do struggle with eating disorders will get a chance to sit down with her and talk. She’ll understand things far better than I can.”

“Okay.”

“Good. You guys ready to get started? I’m not gonna make you do introductions, but it’d be awesome if we just went around and everyone said their name, so we all know each other. But you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Harry sits up a bit and brings his arms around to rest across his abdomen. He’s not sure how the rest of this session is going to go or what his time at this place is going to entail, but now that he’s learned more about him and realized he’s doing this because he wants to, Harry’s willing to give Lucas a chance.


End file.
